


Slytherin

by DeathjunkE



Series: Of A Noble House [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:17:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathjunkE/pseuds/DeathjunkE
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are only two truths in Regulus’s life. He is a Slytherin and he was born for Sirius.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slytherin

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my two betas and . You guys are fantastic! *smooches* ^.^
> 
> A bit on the odd side but then again I’m pretty damn odd myself.

_Sucker love is heaven sent. You pucker up, our passion's spent. My hearts a tart, your body's rent. My body's broken, yours is bent._

* * *

Regulus promised himself, as he stood on the threshold of his brother’s room.

There was just something that drew him to this place, be it old memories or just this overblown sense of sentimentality he couldn’t keep away.

The room was impossibly vulgar; bright red banners emblemized with roaring lions, pictures of a group of teenagers, women in various states of undress straddling Muggle metal horses with gleaming smiles. They were eerily unmoving, plastered on the wall with a permanent sticking charm.

The bed was still unmade and there were papers, books and clothing littering the floor. Kreacher was ordered out of this room years and years ago. Sirius had been cleaning his own room ever since he was seven and, when he had got older, he had somehow spelled it against their parents. They would get shoved out of the room by a huge gust of foul-smelling wind, but Regulus had always been able to get in.

So, he did. 

Regulus inched into the room just as he had every night since his brother left. With each step, he inhaled the strong scent of Sirius, and got closer to the bed. He climbed onto the high mattress and crawled across it, slowly breathing in the comforting scent of his brother, before he settled himself down on the bed and drew the covers up and around himself.

It was like being surrounded by everything that was Sirius. That earthy and light scent he just naturally gave off. The easy affection that he had always shown Regulus, and those warm arms that had always enveloped him.

If he closed his eyes and tried really hard he would remember the words Sirius whispered to him so long ago.

_“You’re mine. Before anything else, you _are_ mine,” Sirius would say, as he held Regulus so tight it hurt. It didn’t matter who was present or what the situation was, Sirius would wrap his arms around the other boy tightly and murmur, “Mother had you for me. She has no need for a second heir. You’ll only ever be mine.”_

Regulus closed his eyes tightly in a failed attempt to stop the tears that burned his eyes. How good it had felt to belong to someone!

Now, Regulus shivered, chilled by loneliness.

He had taken Sirius’s love and possession for granted. He had let the other Slytherins, his cousins and even his own parents change his image of Sirius, because there could only be so many witnesses of a fictional event before Regulus continued to think it false.

They had all seen Sirius cavorting with those of lesser blood. Sirius did shun the Slytherins – most of whom shared his own flesh and blood. Sirius had hexed Bellatrix until she couldn’t stand, scared Narcissa’s arm in a fit of temper and was rumoured to have befriended a beast in the forest. 

Regulus had eaten the twisted truths and family ideology from their palms, with the idea that the majority had to know the truth. He had allowed himself to be talked into doubting and pushing Sirius away. All in while believing that Sirius would put up with the snarky remarks, scowls and blatant disrespect Regulus had showed him, and still readily accept him into his arms.

And so, there he was, fourteen and alone, and his only company were those words that he’d taken into his heart and the scent of his older brother.

Regulus longed for human touch; Mother didn’t believe in such vulgar things as hugs and Father was much too foreboding. Sirius had been the only one willing to hold him when everything became too much, and now he wanted nothing to do with the Blacks anymore – wanted nothing to do with Regulus. Yet, Regulus still longed for him; he longed for the affection that he knew would get nowhere else.

_‘It’s not going to be like this for long.’_

Regulus turned his face into the soft pillow and inhaled deeply. He drew his strength from the lingering presence of his brother. His brother, who’d learn to be strong, how to stand on his own two feet soon enough. Until Regulus could do the same, he would continue to draw strength from his brother’s scent and memories.

* * *

“All I’m saying is, think about it. Don’t jump into this head first if you aren’t going to be completely devoted to the cause.”

"Everyone says he knows what he's talking about. They say he's got a plan—that he can't be beat."

"No one is invincible." Severus's voice had cracked a bit as he tried to convince me to think over my choice. It was kind of funny to hear it, but I didn't laugh or snicker; Severus just isn't someone that you can blithely offend, as he had a mean streak a mile wide and a spell repertoire more than twice that.

"I'm going through with it. No matter what you think." 

“Whatever, Black.”

“So, will you introduce me? Put in a good word for me?” I pressed. “I hear you’re his favourite.”

“I’ll tell him. But I’m not going to sing your praises—you’re the most indecisive person I’ve ever met, not to mention all too gullible.” I huffed turned to walk away, but I didn’t get very far; I had to stop and ponder.

Snape had always been an odd duck. 

He was head over heels for a Mudblood and never lied, not even about that; had already achieved a potions mastery at the age of 16 and, if that wasn’t precocious enough, he never slept in his own bed, didn’t date – yet somehow managed to fuck Elisa Zabini – held the ear and eye of the only Malfoy son despite his dirty blood; was uglier than sin, and not bothered by it; was dirt-poor, and still the Dark Lord’s protégé if rumours held true. 

I looked at Snape for a moment . . . I studied him.

He sat in the armchair farthest from the fire, pushed back into the far corner of the room. He had wrapped himself up in the quilt he’d pulled off of his bed, his long legs tucked under his body and his arms hidden under the green cover. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail that dripped water on to his pyjama shirt.

Snape’s face was strange—long and pale; he had thick and dark eyebrows that were naturally shaped the way girls liked to pluck theirs, but his eyes were captivating—they were so dark, blacker than ink. They always seemed to be half closed, yet alert. The cheekbones were high and razor sharp, and Snape’s nose wasn’t really large—it was long and having it broken a few times had made it crooked. And his lips—his lips were so thin that his mouth looked like a gash across his face. 

I knew Snape had a long-standing feud with my brother and his friends. Sometimes, I think it was more like an obsession with slaughtering Potter and publicly disembowelling Sirius. The passion that he put into that never-ending battle was amazing.

They’d prod and harangue each other, until they were circling like feral animals. It was never very long until they started to tear strips off of each other—hexes, jinxes and curses all at a rapid pace, with footwork and a precision that made Flitwick damn near jizz his pants.

“Snape?” I intoned cautiously; it wouldn’t do to irritate him.

“What do you want?”

I nibbled the inside of my cheek for a moment. Snape was always very straightforward. There was no smoke and mirrors when he spoke, so I guessed he’d appreciate the same. “Wanna fuck?”

“No, Black. I don’t.”

_Carve your name into my arm./ Instead of stressed, I lie here charmed./ Cuz there's nothing else to do,/ Every me and every you._

* * *

It was the worst thing I had ever felt. 

It was like an endless inferno combined with knives digging through my most vulnerable places. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t feel, think or even move. The pain was everything. Everything was the pain—I was the pain. It was too much and I was on the edge of insanity and death. I screamed—shrieked so loudly and for so long that I had to have done my throat some serious damage before passing out.

I hadn't expected to wake up in an isolated alcove with my head on Snape's lap, the halfling doing some calculations in a note pad, while his other hand rubbed my neck firmly. Snape leaned over to skim a passage from his book on magical algorithms and, unable to do anything else, I watched him mouth the words. He then stopped reading to look down at me, and sighed. 

"You're awfully nosy."

"Your newest line of hallucinogens?"

"No—actually, yes," he said, looking a bit startled at himself. "But this isn’t the kind I'll sell."

"Why not?"

"Because, if all goes as planned, it will temporarily kill you when you have a sip of water."

"That's rather harsh, don't you think?"

"Harsh is a matter of opinion, and I think a lot."

I smirked a little, only Snape would be so very obtuse. "Thanks, Snape." I gestured absently in the general direction of where my head rested on his lap.

"Well, it was either this or step over your body, and I don't feel like tripping over you today." 

I nodded. Snape had never been like the other Slytherins; he wasn't needlessly cruel, or even backstabbing and ravenous to get a head. He was steady, proud and smart. He reminded me of Sirius, but I was never enough of a fool to tell either of them about that. "Is it over then?"

"Congratulations," he drawled, as I pulled myself into a sitting position. "You're not dead."

I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face. "I'm a Death Eater," I croaked eagerly.

Snape nodded and returned to his book muttering something about fools and dead men.

I paid him no attention; this was a new beginning for me! A perfect chance to prove to my family that I was every bit the heir Sirius was and more. I'd serve the Dark Lord, a man who knew what a plague those of lesser blood truly were. A man who knew just how to eradicate the threat Muggles and Muggleborns posed to society. 

I'd bring the Black name glory and honour. I’d show Sirius who was right, and how strong I could be.

I couldn't help but to feel proud. The feeling was at the forefront of my mind as Snape pulled me to my feet when the tremors wore off, and shoved me through the Floo.

The chimney spat me out on the hearth rug of my mother's sitting room seconds later. I must have given her a start because she shrieked and rushed to me.

"Regulus!" I admit that I really enjoyed the few seconds when I saw her run with fear in her eyes. I pretended the fear was for my personal well being and not the worry over the Black heir. "What on earth happened?"

I pushed myself up into a seated position and pulled back the sleeve of my robe. The mark was beautiful against my white skin and shimmered when the light hit it. Tears welled up in mother's eyes and her lips were parted in disbelief.

"Aren't you proud, Mother?"

She threw her arms around me and I froze. Never before had she hugged me; little more than a brief caress to my cheek was all I knew of her touch. She dropped her forehead on my shoulder and breathed deeply.

I closed my eyes, pressed my nose into her soft ringlets and pretended that it was Sirius holding me.

_Sucker love is known to swing./ Prone to cling and waste these things./ Pucker up for heaven’s sake./ There's never been so much at stake._

* * *

It had been four years since I consented to my own enslavement. That was all it was. It wasn't a mark of honour, it wasn't a way to change the world for the better; it was just a mad man's attempt at world domination and immortality.

Between the revels, where we willed over hundred of Muggle and Mudblood families and put pressure on the Ministry of Magic to pass restrictive laws, I found time to go to a bar.

I hadn't realized what kind of bar it was or who was in. All I wanted was a stiff drink. It wasn't until a few fortifying gulps of bourbon did I realize that I was in Odie's Bar, a bar for gay wizards. Though I’d never had a problem in indulging with another man before. Bodies were bodies, and in the end every hole was a glory hole. It didn't bother me at all. What bothered me was the crowd.

It wasn't packed to the rafters but there was enough of a crowd to be rowdy irritating. The barmaid slid some drinks over to a guy down the counter and strolled over towards me.

"I wasn't expecting to see you-- you're not Sirius." 

"No, Mudblood, I'm not."

She snorted, placing a hand on her hip, and scowled at me. I could never understand what the fuss was all about. She was pretty enough, but not gorgeous or anything like that—her family was poor, and was chock full of attitude. Whatever Snape and Potter saw in her completely bypassed me.

"Well, what would you like, you pompous ass?" she snapped pushing her hair back over her shoulder. The motion made her dress stretch over her poking stomach. I couldn’t believe it. Potter actually sired a half-breed! I frankly didn’t dare to think that Snape had finally gotten back into her good graces; Severus would never lower himself so much as to grovel to that shrill bint.

“Well, aren’t you uppity? Gilly-water and Goblin Rum.” When she came back the glass was filled with clear fizzy Gilly-water, but it didn’t have the tint of the Rum. “Where’s the Rum?”

“This is a Wizarding/Muggle establishment. You’re not of legal drinking age in the Muggle world so I can’t give you Rum without losing my job.”

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that.”

“Yup.” She grinned at me, and turned to the man who had appeared next to me. 

“Lily Flower!”

My eyes widened after I heard his voice and my stomach dropped when I caught his scent. 

“I’ve been sent by The Bigheaded Toe-rag Potter himself! To escort you home and tell you that your fiancé wants his bride-to-be with him, not bar-hopping and catering to all these good looking men!” My Sirius chirruped as he leaned over the counter to give the Mudblood peck on the cheek. When he pulled back, his eyes finally caught sight of me.

After all this time, I was still struck stupid and helpless by that intense gaze of his. Sirius’s eyes roamed over me, and I found that I couldn’t keep eye contact. I dropped my eyes to the counter and fought the urge to fidget, knowing he’d probably slap my fingers like he did when we were little. 

“H’lo, Sirius.”

“Reg.” I felt his fingers lift my chin, forcing me to look at him again. I froze. “How have you been?”

I didn’t speak, I couldn’t. If I did, I would have humiliated myself by sobbing and begging Sirius to make everything go away. Just like he used to get rid of the monsters under my bed. I was a man, and an adult in body and mind, but seeing Sirius so close . . . When he touched me, I turned into a child right down to my soul. Never had I wished I had a Time-Turner more than I did at that moment. 

I swallowed the burn in my throat and nodded. It was all I could do.

“How’s the old man?”

“Deteriorating.”

“Ma mère will kill him as soon as he’s expired past his usefulness,” Sirius said, giving me a stiff nod, before glancing at the redhead Mudblood as she said her goodbyes and donned her coat, and he refocused his attention on me. “Don’t eat or drink in that house if you can get away with it. I left on my own two feet, not in a body bag. I expect the same from you, Regulus.”

I lowered my eyes and grit my teeth. How dare he make assumptions about Father and Mother? They were loyal to their blood. Loyal to the House of Black. But of course Sirius didn’t see it that way—everything we did was lesser now, uncivilized. And, for some obscure reason or another, he expected me to just drop everything just like he’d done and run away! To expect things from me when I hadn’t seen his face in years . . . He had brass bollocks.

I opened my mouth, what I was going to say I don’t know, but at that moment pain flared in my left arm. Instinctively, I wrapped my hand around it and pulled away from his concerned hands before Disapparating.

_I serve my head up on a plate./ It's only comfort, calling late./ Cuz there's nothing else to do,/ Every me and every you._

* * *

My mouth was dry and I couldn’t help but fidget restlessly in a way Mother would have reprimanded me for. In this room alone, I couldn’t help but feel the oppressive magic. It made my blood ache in my veins and bolstered my already heightened nerves.

My most important mission was upon me and I was frightened. Helplessly frightened.

I curled my fingers around each other and cursed myself for my weakness. Sirius would never have been this weak; he would have taken it all in stride with his cocky grin or a raised eyebrow and then—who am I kidding?

Sirius would never have placed himself in such a position in the first place. 

Only idiotic little brothers get themselves into fixes like this. 

I looked in to the mirror and smiled. Under any circumstance, I could whip out the most brilliant of smiles, and Sirius could too. Training from Mother had us ready for every photographer and newspaper cameraman wanting a shot of the Black heirs. 

I watched my reflection for a minute, before giving up with a hopeless sigh. We, Sirius and I, were different on a visceral level and it showed in our appearances. My reflection lacked the playfulness, compassion and distinctness of my brother. I may have the same face as Sirius, but I couldn’t compare.

Trying to pretend my reflection was Sirius was disappointing and demoralizing. I just wanted the comfort of him standing next to me. I looked down at the locket in my hand and grit my teeth.

I knew what it was. How could I not? As a Black it was my very duty to learn and pass on the enchantments left behind because of the changing morals and opinions of spells and magic with Mephistophelean nature.

I didn’t want to do this; it rubbed me in all the wrong ways. 

When the choice came down to unpleasantness and death, I’d always err on the side of survival. All Slytherins would. 

I guess that was why Sirius was a Gryffindor.

_Like the naked leads the blind./ I know I'm selfish, I'm unkind./ Sucker love I always find,/ Someone to bruise and leave behind._

* * *

“Kreacher.” There was the crack of elfic magic, so familiar to me that I barely even registered the change in the atmosphere. “Kreacher, you drank from this goblet before?”

"Yes. Yes, young master, Kreacher did." The house-elf's voice quivered and I felt sorry for him. Snape had told me what this was. It made you relive the worst times of your life until you lost your mind or had a sip of water.

Snape was always called a genius, but I never really understood his prowess until I looked upon the miserable little house-elf that was quaking from simply being in the presence of the murky potion.

When I had volunteered Kreacher to the Dark Lord I had thought it would be for a personal service. I would have never offered him if I knew he would be force-fed poison. When he came back home twitching, screaming and half mad with hysteria, I watched over and nursed him with a resigned guilt. 

Kreacher loved me dearly. He’s always done what he could to keep me in my mother’s good grace. Taking blame for things that had gotten him beaten starved, hexed and almost killed.

“Master Regulus?”

“I will drink this potion, Kreacher."

"Master, _no_! That is not for master to be drinking! Master will hurt! Let Kreacher drink. Kreacher will drink!"

I ignored his pleas. If given a direct order, Kreacher would be forced to obey due to his very nature. "I will drink as much as I can on my own and you will make sure that I finish the rest and then drink from the flask in my cloak. The small one.”

Kreacher twisted his ears in distress and my hands were shaking. But if everything worked as planned, there would be nothing to fret about.

"After I've drunk the potion, scoop out the locket inside and replace it with my own. Then you must go home and destroy the locket. It must be destroyed completely. Do you understand, Kreacher?"

“Yes, master Regulus,” he forced through sobs.

I went to the basin to ladle out a full cup of the potion. I gulped down a goblet of the stuff and did my best to ignore the nightmares that played in my mind. They were things that I had tried so diligently to forget. 

The pain of my memories was incapacitating. I watched Sirius walk out of Grimmauld Place over and over and over again.

With each gulp the images got more and more vivid. 

I screamed for him to turn around and look at me—to take me with him not to leave me at the mercy of that mad house. To save me from Mother’s angry curses; and from my own failure.

I had dipped the goblet again. The image of the stone basin was becoming blurry and disconnected.

I screamed and tried to fight my way out of Sirius’s hold as Mother tortured Bees-tee, Kreacher’s sister and Sirius’s personal house-elf, for not stopping Sirius from sneaking out into the Muggle playground. Sirius watched with clenched teeth and a defiant face. His firm grip held me down as Mother hurled _Crucio_ after _Crucio_ at the tiny house-elf before pointing her wand at me.

I gagged and choked on the putrid potion, gasping for air and ignoring Kreacher’s pleas and screams. I couldn’t really hear them, anyway. My ears were filled with my own screams and my throat was raw and tired.

“Mother, I promise I won't do it again! Stop hurting him! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” The sound of Sirius begging filled my ears. His pleas were louder than my own screams and his face was twisted in pain as if he was facing something worse than the _Cruciatus_ that I was under. 

That memory always made my insides ache. Sirius had tossed aside his pride for me. I loved him for it, but I hated him too. I hated the way he had bent for the first time ever to Mother’s will. I hated how he cried and begged for me. I hated myself for being so ungrateful.

I couldn’t help but want my brother, as I refilled the goblet once more.   
It was a stupid want, a childish want. A want I’d have to live with for the rest of my life, where I was going my brother wouldn’t—couldn’t follow.

“Last one,” I urged myself on and brought my shaking hands to my mouth. I didn’t want to drink but the thought of what was in the basin spurred me on. The pain of initiation into the Death Eaters brought me to my knees.

I screamed and I thrashed, but still I brought the goblet to my mouth, knowing what I had to do.

_All alone in space and time./ There's nothing here but what here's mine./ Something borrowed, something blue./ Every me and every you._

* * *

’

 

I woke up alone. 

Kreacher had given me the contents of the flask before he departed. Pure water, cold water; the final ingredient that would turn the Potion of Living Nightmares into the Draught of Living Death. 

I had been all but dead for three days and three nights. 

The cave was eerie and the lake of Inferi was frightening, but I stepped on the boat and let it take me to the opposite shore. At this point in time, Kreacher must have told Mother how I had died, and the Dark Lord could probably felt my presence but hadn’t thought anything of it yet.

I climbed on to the shore and I took a moment to gather my strength. From here on out I could only depend on myself. There would be no running to Sirius or hiding behind the Black name. For the first time ever, I would truly be on my own. . . I’d _be_ my own. 

I pulled my wand from my right pocket and dug around in my left for the second flagon. It was large and made of tin. I opened it and held the neck of the flask between my teeth.

I rolled up the sleeve of my right arm deliberately, slowly. I wriggled my fingers, twisted my wrist and bent my arm this way and that. Saying good-bye I guess . . . 

I stopped thinking by this point, and just watched as my body did what it had to do. 

“ _Relashio,_ ” I said around the bottle, almost crushing the metal between my teeth as I felt the spell slide effortlessly through my skin, flesh, veins and bone. I heard a thump and tipped my head back gulping down the potion as the light-headedness born from shock began to steal my strength from me.

The bleeding stopped, the veins knitted themselves together and the flash began to grow again. My skin healed over a scabby pink. I loved magic; it would hurt me to live without it but it was necessary. After that day, I wouldn’t utter another spell.

I kicked my severed arm into the body-filled water, and walked out of the cave on shaky legs.

 

Because I am coward, I will never fight.   
Because I want to live, I would rather run.

When the choice came down to unpleasantness and death, I’d always err on the side of survival. 

I am a Slytherin.


End file.
